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There he is now, I'll be darned if he ain't, standin' afore his shop door, lookin' as strong as high proof Jamaiky; I guess I'll whip it out o' the bung while he's a-lookin' arter the spicket, and p'r'aps he'll be none o' the wiser till he finds it out, neither." "Well, Squire, how do you do," said he, "how's all at home?" "Reasonable well, I give you thanks, won't you alight?"
He did this the more easily, too, because it was raised from the ground a foot or more, being supported by blocks of wood which in the mind's eye of the boy did well enough for legs, while a spicket, protruding from one end, below, made a head for the animal, which, though small, was available for bridling purposes.
This latter waterfall is now somewhat modified by the hand of Art, but is still, as Professor Hitchcock's "Scenographical Geology" says of it, "an object of no little interest." My friend T., favorably known as the translator of "Undine" and as a writer of fine and delicate imagination, visited Spicket Falls before the sound of a hammer or the click of a trowel had been heard beside them.
Staid and matter of fact as the Merrimac is, it has, nevertheless, certain capricious and eccentric tributaries; the Powow, for instance, with its eighty feet fall in a few rods, and that wild, Indian-haunted Spicket, taking its wellnigh perpendicular leap of thirty feet, within sight of the village meeting- house, kicking up its Pagan heels, Sundays and all, in sheer contempt of Puritan tithing-men.
This latter waterfall is now somewhat modified by the hand of Art, but is still, as Professor Hitchcock's "Scenographical Geology" says of it, "an object of no little interest." My friend T., favorably known as the translator of "Undine" and as a writer of fine and delicate imagination, visited Spicket Falls before the sound of a hammer or the click of a trowel had been heard beside them.
There he is now, I'll be darned if he aint, standin afore his shop door, lookin as strong as high proof Jamaiky; I guess I'll whip it out o' the bung while he's a lookin arter the spicket, and praps he'll be none o' the wiser till be finds it out, neither. Well Squire, how do you do, said he, how's all to home? Reasonable well, I give you thanks, wont you alight? Cant to-day, said Mr.
Staid and matter of fact as the Merrimac is, it has, nevertheless, certain capricious and eccentric tributaries; the Powow, for instance, with its eighty feet fall in a few rods, and that wild, Indian-haunted Spicket, taking its wellnigh perpendicular leap of thirty feet, within sight of the village meeting- house, kicking up its Pagan heels, Sundays and all, in sheer contempt of Puritan tithing-men.
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